Drunk people of the world, I totally love you. You, my friends, are often brilliant. Frequently caring. And almost often enough, just careful enough.
And until I found Texts from Last Night, I hardly knew you at all. And you totally ought to have a cupcake, whether you deserve one or not.
I have not spent a lot of time with you, because of my damage. Because of my tiny tolerance for alcohol and positive revulsion of the flavor of it, I didn't spend enough time with all y'all to find this out. Though I always suspected. Seriously, people talk about getting drunk as if it were so much FUN!
I have plenty of fun, don't get me wrong. But I don't need a few beers or shots or whatever to let loose. I just need everybody else around me to relax a little bit!
And to be perfectly frank, I'd prefer it if you could still speak in complete sentences. I get a little worried, and I know you'll totally get over it, but my fun is all bent out of shape if I worry that you'll get home safe.
I wish I was willing to quote some of your exploits here, instead of trying to dimly remember them from the last time I checked in on all y'all, a couple of weeks ago.
Waking up in your underwear, and somebody else's boots, in your neighbor's yard? I REALLY wish you could remember what happened, because I can't figure it out.
I can make something up, and someday, I probably will. But it won't be the same.
I've probably been drunk three times, and only once had a little fun with it. It kind of felt grim at the time, but I drank my booze and I was having my fun night out with karaoke all liquored-up just like everyone else. I probably should have relaxed a bit more, but who knows, maybe I was suffering from anxiety back then too.
One other time the fun was fine while it lasted! A whole half an hour. It was like the wind, and totally not worth choking down that fine combination of pineapple juice and whatever.
The first time, I didn't even notice getting drunk, but I had a headache the next morning, so maybe. Heck, I was thirteen, it was cheap champagne, and on New Year's Eve. An extremely lackluster evening.
It's hard to let loose when you're a control freak. Maybe next time.